


Morning After

by WriteNotFight



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, One Shot, two sleepy nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteNotFight/pseuds/WriteNotFight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night is intoxicating, but morning holds the greatest potential for intimacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This is all from Jefferson's perspective, just so you know.

1.  
Why do we bother with the rest of the day? The afternoon with its direct sunlight demands too much, the evening means dry conversation or dinner alone, the night intoxicates with its darkness. Morning we regain consciousness, pale light plays through the blinds, coffee smells like vitality. We blink away whatever lies our dreams told us. Not to mention, waking up next to someone you love is a thousand times more meaningful than whatever you did with them the night before. Morning holds the greatest potential for intimacy.

2.  
I tell Hamilton all this. He agrees. It’s the first time in a long time we’ve agreed on anything. I tell him that too, and then we’re both trying to laugh and blink sleep away at the same time. I feel like saying I love him, but I know there will be time for that later. On some distant morning perhaps, when sleeping in his bed is no longer a novelty that I’m trying my best to process. 

3.  
If it were up to me, I’d freeze this moment and live here forever. Hamilton’s eyes have laughter and hope in them even though he’s barely awake. I'm tempted to kiss him and I realize… I can! I have permission! A day ago sitting across from him at work, I wouldn’t have imagined being where I am now. We always argued, and I always thought he was beautiful in an annoying way, but I never thought to do anything about it. Yet here I am, my lips on Alexander’s. There he is laughing as I pull away, and curling his fingers between mine. 

4.  
I say I’m taking a shower, and Hamilton says in the most casual way that he should probably take one too, but he only has one shower, so we’ll just have to share. I try to act like that statement isn’t one of the most pleasant surprises I’ve experienced, second only to last night, when drinking led to making out led to more. We spend a long time under the hot water, taking in each other’s bodies. Getting a good look at everything like we didn’t get to do last night, because the darkness and the hurriedness prevented it. Hamilton is still beautiful in an annoying way. I want to stay in one position for a long time; he won’t stop moving. So it becomes a challenge: What can I do to him that will make him freeze, that will make him pause where he is and just take in the moment instead of plunging forward into a new one? It becomes a game, played mostly with fingers and lips. Gradually, I get good.

5.  
We’re both breathless coming out of the bathroom, but both clean too. And honestly, it’s always a triumph when shower sex doesn’t end with someone cracking their skull on the wet tile floor. It’s not yet noon, but already we’ve achieved great pleasure and avoided great trauma. Hamilton makes coffee to celebrate. We drink it out on the balcony of his apartment. The balcony only overlooks the adjacent building, but the weather’s warm and the sky is clear and there’s a slight breeze. Our hair dries as we discuss nothing. I realize I feel more at home here with him than I feel anywhere alone, including my own house. 

6.  
Why do we bother with the rest of the day? Morning wanes and noon arrives and we go our separate ways. I hate that this has to end. Will we glare at each other across the room at work now, like we always have? Or after all that’s happened, will we smile knowingly, and meet up after for a drink that leads to more? Today is Saturday, so I’ll have to wait to find out. Back at my house, alone and facing a demanding afternoon, I try to write about politics. But my pencil this useless day has a mind of its own: I end up arguing not for the rights of the South, but for the sacredness of morning above all other times of day.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a wonderful poem called Morning by Billy Collins. Go read it, and fall in love with Collins' rad poetry.


End file.
